


Devil Like Me

by skuulduggery (killewich)



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Alcohol, Baby's First TF2 Fanfic, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-06-15 08:00:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15408540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killewich/pseuds/skuulduggery
Summary: The devil wears a suit. He lives in our town, he lives on our street, in your home, in your home, in your bed. You see, the devil don't mean to be evil, he just regrettably forgets to exceed expectation.





	1. Holy Water Cannot Help You Now

**Author's Note:**

> I will keep quiet, you won't even know I'm here. You won't suspect a thing; you won't see me in the mirror.

It's the same thing every day. Wake up at 4 AM, his morning ritual, then be down at settlements by five. On good days, they start just shy of six o'clock after briefing, just as the sun pulls itself up and starts warming the field.

Today was not one of those days.

Stalemate hours are from 2 PM to 6 AM. The Administrator was very strict in her scheduling, and she wouldn't change her plans even if the world was ending. So, if you were late, the world started without you. If you weren't out for the preparation phase, then you missed out. And today, BLU missed out on about twenty minutes of preparation time. RED had plenty of time to set up defensives, leaving them already at a steep advantage.

This, among many other reasons as the morning rolled on, left the Frenchman in a soured mood. There's a joke of today breaking up the monotony of their schedule, and it's not taken well. While the same thing every day does get boring, this is not the kind of disruption he would prefer. His job was already hard enough, and it didn't need to be aided by Scout sleeping in. Regardless, he had a job to be done. He dons a disguise before cloaking and sliding out, wanting to get an idea of what they were up against today.

RED’s layout is thoroughly inspected: a chokehold with a fully-leveled sentry, their Medic is already Uber-charge-ready, and as he continues, he gets the gist of their stationing. It doesn't take him long before he gets a feel for their tempo, and it's like his irritation washes off as his focus comes on. He's sure to uncloak only when it starts to get noisy, and poses as their seemingly absent Demoman. Probably off throwing up or passed out... _hmph_.

He strays off towards the frontline, jumping around and acting like the demolition expert. Mindful of not staying too close, the Spy continues to meld in, going through a doorway ahead of "his" team, cloaking away, their "teammate" seemingly dissipating. Nobody takes much notice and he notes this.

Upon returning, recon is simple, and he drops off what he needs to: Intel location, sentry-placement... the likes. He’s only aware of the positioning on the better half of the RED’s team, but it’s not as if that would stay consistent enough to matter much now. He dips back out, the thankless job finished… now onto his real work.

Their Demoman has likely shown up by now, and he's sure that disguise is old news. He cloaks back onto the field, seeking a new opportunity to take out their first target: the sentry.

His only concern for now is the last RED member he’s yet to see. There’s only a handful of locations to expect, and even less if he were to be guarding the Engineer’s work; it an obvious ploy. Make a move on it, and _boom_ : **headshot**. The assassin would have to make this quick, then.

The BLU Spy snakes his way back to his main objective. It’s in a tight corner, and upon further inspection… a staircase descending right onto it. He rolls his eyes. How _obvious_.

He bides his time over his Cloak and Dagger, awaiting for his offensive teammates to come charging out of their battlements. They would make for the cover needed, as they’d be plenty of distractions for--

The faintest shot lights up his ears, it soon followed by a guttural cry from his team’s Heavy. He smirks to himself: _found you_. He now knows his general window of time, and capitalizes off of it. The rogue gives only a moment’s of time more before making his play, certain his front line would be plenty of heads to concentrate on in the meantime. 

He choses a more comfortable position, eyes falling back on the equipment sure to tear through his team more than the man above him. Waiting for the BLU’s Engineer to return after stocking up to start on a dispenser. He's patient, fingers itching just the slightest around the equipment in his hands. He knows how much time he has, and he uses every second to its fullest. Patience was a deeply rewarded virtue. The moment strikes, and so does he. It's quick, a thoughtless and trained procedure: uncloak under disguise, sap the sentry, backstabbing the Engineer and taking his face. His cloak doesn't charge nearly enough to make his escape, he knows this, but the sentry is down and that's worth the life. Attention is quickly drawn to himself and he goes invisible, seeking out a temporary hideout until he's regened enough time to slink back into more familiar territory.

However, he doesn’t make it out unscathed. Their Pyro had been immediately alerted of his general location, both the alert of the sentry and the Engineer having gone down. Flames nip at his heels, and soon enough, his cloak is busted, his general shape ignited. He doesn’t have enough time to process a sound to go along with his death, their Demoman miraculously showing and finishing off the job.

BLU’s Spy is only mildly put off by the death… It's only to be expected during war that success is short-lived. But, it had been two pieces for one. Their location had been incredibly planned out, and had anybody else tried to make a play on it, the marksman above would have ended any chance of it. He eases his nerves knowing their biggest advantage is shot. While he did carve the path for his comrades to come through, the sky isn't clear. Next objective: _Bushman_...

He darts off to scale to where the Sniper had taken nest. He's disguised as none other than the man himself, acting as if he had to nab a health pack and some more ammo. Hat tilted down, he makes his way up with a disgruntled murmuring of this, that, and the other. Nobody pays him any mind. The Spy is light on his feet as nears the top, masking the sounds of his steps with the chaos going on around him.

Heavy thuds on groaning wood meet his ears, and he instinctively backs to the wall, cloak activated. He’s almost positive it's their Pyro again, and he wouldn't be surprised… Smart guess to count on him to return.

Even though respawning had been a thing to get used to (he's well aware of the process), there's still something that gets under his nerves with being lit aflame. He involuntarily flinches to himself any time near a Pyro; either team’s. It doesn't matter how many times it happens: you can't chase the smell of your skin melting hours after coming back to consciousness moments later. He doesn't think he will ever get used to it. His skin crawls as he briskly makes his way past the flamethrower.

He's trained to listen, and amidst all the constant ambient noises of death and weapon-fire; it's never an easy task. Luckily for him, the RED base is pretty vocal. He can hear each creak and whine from the staircase, and he knows he will run into whoever descending shortly. Playing it safe, he stays put.

One would find it hard to explain the satisfaction Spy got out of slipping out of vision of others. Especially when he was just in ear shot.

"No bloody snakes runnin’ around..."

The muttered drawl greets him before a face swinging around the corner does. The Sniper returns to his nest with a: "’N here I was thinkin' the greasy reptile would show up again."

He can't help but smirk. It seems as if he wouldn't be letting the other down.

The sharpshooter places his knife down near his makeshift sitting spot, taking off his hat and brushing back his hair, before replacing it. The sun is still unforgiving despite being under a roof, but the wide open window does neither of them any favors.

With the cloak and dagger, he has all the time he needs. He only moves when his steps would fall on deafened ears, and it's easy to make his way arms length to his rival.

"Jou should ask for a refund on jour schooling... snakes do not run." He savors the feeling of sliding his arm around the Sniper as he uncloaks, cold metal held at the other's adam's apple. "We slither."

"Awe piss, you." Sniper tries to not struggle much, for one false move and he would end up gutting his own neck. He knew he should have repositioned after the Sentry had been dismantled. 

The assassin tuts, hand searching for the Australian's own knife nearby. "Sounds as if jou've missed me." His hand finds it, drawing back his balisong, turning the Australian's knife on himself. "Jour big heart will be jour downfall." And with this, he makes the move to slice open the taller's throat with the Kukri.

The marksman leans downward as quick as possible, feeling the tip of his own blade just graze the hair on his neck. Tumbling backwards, he grabs the barrel end of his rifle, righting it and aiming. "What's’a matter princess, can't tango today?"

He releases the other's knife to the floor with little contest, and it's simply not something worth fighting for. The embarrassment of being slain with his own weapon was all the Spy wanted from it, and as it had let him down; it was useless to him now.

The rouge cackles, it almost more fun this way. He was tired of easy kills, and the RED Sniper seemed to be the only one he could rely on for this. Their quarrels were always a treat, and without them, he would tire out of the same song and dance day in and out. "Jou managing to waltz would color me surprized, Bushman." He strikes up the pose as if to begin dancing, bows as if taunting, and drawing back into a fighting stance.

The opposite snorts disgust, "Real cute, mate..." Looking at the Spy as he reaches down to grab his Kukri. He crouched slightly down a bit to ready himself, gripping his blade handle tight. "Taunting, though, is another thing." He let out a fierce roar as he took a step forward, brandishing his blade upward and slashing at the Spy.

And dance they would.

He dodges back, leaning backwards in order to safely strafe. It's just barely though, and the fabric of his suit is nicked. "Ah, this was fun until you messed up my suit..." Scowling, he dips back forward, elbow aimed for the Sniper's temple.

The taller dives down from the strike, but instead takes a hefty blow to the nose in order to make a sweep at the rouge’s legs. A hand cups it as it begins to bleed, speech only slightly affected by pinching it shut, head aimed to the ceiling. "Bloody this, bloody that, take it to the cleaners if yer so miffed."

The BLU is about to laugh at his elbow connected better than calculated, only to collapse unceremoniously before such a sound can even come from his throat… it is instead replaced with a winded gasp. His head hits off a stray wooden box, bouncing back up with a nasty crack. He's dizzy for a moment, out of his elements, and his pride takes the brunt of the damage. Despite it all, he's still defensive with knife in hand, in a sportsman-like truce to avoid bullets in close combat like this. It was also more fun, more interesting this way. Something the Spy craved in the monotony of it all.

"Jou should take a trip to the cleaners jourself, filthy jar-man!"

Sniper had had it with Spy by now, the game no longer fun. The blood from his nose is wiped onto his jacket mindlessly as takes a quick leap at the other to pin him up against the wall by the very head that just bounced off the corner of the box. He presses hard, bringing his Kukri up to a clothed neck. "Yer not gettin’ away so easily this time, snake!"

Spy’s head is killing him, and he's still seeing spots. Next thing he knows, he's rammed up against the wall, throat threatened with a blade and... well, it seems the roles have switched.

He spits at the Sniper, having no other defense past that, having lost his balisong along the way. He lifts his head, as if testing the other. He smirks, despite it all. "'ave at it."

Only after his invitation, something loud shakes him from his senses. It's the horn to signal the end of a match, and the Announcer's haggity voice caws over, "Stalemate, you useless sacks of meat!"

He blinks, seeming to come to his senses of the situation at hand. Well, more like, at throat. As the match is over now, he's curious of how the taller will handle this.

As predicted, the RED sighs and drops his knife. "Yet again, another interruption that stops us from takin’ one 'nother out." He brushes off the blood and the dirt from his jacket and sat down on his makeshift box chair. Picking up his rifle, he notes a crack from the tussle earlier. "’n now I ‘ave to fix this damn thing… bloody hell."

The Frenchman isn't sure if it was because he had cracked his skull pretty good, but he's not understanding the situation that well. The comment weighs oddly on him, and he takes plenty of time to get his bearings about him. Rubbing the sore side of his skull, he shoots the other a quizzical look. "...And who'ze to say anything is interrupting you?" Spy doesn't bother getting up.

"'s not the same when we have our blood rushin’ ‘n wits on edge." He inspects the stock end of the rifle as if the other wasn't even there anymore. "Right now the both’a us could take each other out ‘n call it a day and we would just respawn." He gathers the rest of his items and shoulders on his pack.

Below, there's the sounds of either team going their respective ways for chow. Despite this, the Spy only moves to sit up, head against the wooden shack's walls. "Jou let the mood die pretty quick..." He snorts a small laugh, eyes trained on the RED. The Sniper seems to be getting ready to join the rest of his team, but the Spy makes sure to drain every second out of this exchange. It's... interesting, to say the least. He surely would have killed the other had they different shoes in the situation.

Making it to the doorway, Sniper turns to flash a grin, "Ya may wanna watch your step, may be a jar of piss somewhere."

He almost feels blue-balled. There they were, in the heat of it all... and now the Australian was packing up shop and leaving. He doesn't let it end so easily.

BLU’s Spy tugs his pistol out of his jacket pocket, aiming it at the taller.

The sharpshooter actually rolls his eyes. "Over ‘n over we do this, mate. Each time we respawn 10 seconds later; rinse ‘n repeat." As he speaks, he slips his hand back and unhinges a jar of the aforementioned liquid from his pack. "Every time we do this, the feel of your snake-like fang of a knife goes through my back an’ I have’ta deal wit’ it." The angrier he gets, the more the accent started ooze out. All he sees are memories of time and time again, over and over again respawning with the frustrations and humiliation of each and every sneak attack.

Spy can almost feel the air get more humid with tension, and that feeling he had just before the call of the stalemate came crawling back at the hike of the Australian's accent. His hand is unwavering, finger flicking the safety, truing his aim. He can only grin, but his tone defies it. "Is there ever anything else for us mercenaries?" It almost sounds solemn, and he laughs despite it.

He rolls the jar in hand, having found his opening. He had had enough of this weasel. He had to act fast, lest one wrong step and it's back to the spawn room. Though, at least he would be away from this suit-wearing jerk of a pansy… He gives the jar a final squeeze, before launching it with an arch of his arm, aimed at the grounded mercenary. He wanted to make sure to hit the pistol and dodge back to not get shot in the reaction. Well, that was the plan, anyway.

Realization hits before the jar does, and it's not soon enough to react. The other's aim is never shy of its target, and it's clear he'd aimed to disarm him. Or, at least, buy himself a distraction that would put his gun out of working commission for the time being. The sound of glass shattering is nearly traumatic, knowing what comes next. He squeezes his eyes shut, soon coated in... urine. _Merveilleux_.

He's a wave of curses in broken languages, none of them matching the previous word. "I'd rather jou kill me than mark me like some _dog_ ," he finally spits out in their common tongue, trying to shake his arms dry, to no success. It reeks of poor hydration, and it's making him sick. He gags.

"Ha! Gotcha!" The RED quickly grabs the last of his things and makes a mad break down the spiral stairwell, laughing as he goes, making his way back toward his base. "Take that ya smelly hooligan!"

And like that, his rival is gone. He's left high and ...well, rather wet, unlike the saying went. He didn't even bother to take him out. He just... left him here, most likely concussed and drenched in piss. It's more infuriating than actually being killed.

He salivates at the thought of the next kill he will land on the Sniper for this.

He shakily comes to his feet, and vomits from motion sickness and the damned smell of himself. One more thing to clean up. _Joy_.

The rouge doesn't even bother cloaking on his way back, he knows everybody could smell him coming. He shuts down Scout's jesting comments with a quick: "Go fuck jourself." Laughs are had, and he is in no better mood than this morning. His shower lasts until the water runs too cold to bear, and his clothes are just outright tossed (and _burned_ , thanks to Pyro). He's late to lunch, and it's not as if it matters; he has no appetite. He pays a visit to their Medic, clearing up any brain damage from his bump earlier. The entire time, his mood only escalates.

He would not bother waiting for tomorrow to settle this on the field. Sniper had already announced that the timer meant nothing to their rivalry.

He would settle this _**tonight**_.


	2. You’re an Upstanding Model of a Modern Day Cain With Impeccable Style

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who's in your shadows? Who's ready to play? Are we the hunters? Or are we the prey?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be here when you think you're all alone, seeping through the cracks; I'm the poison in your bones.

The dusk aids him in his personal mission, and he cloaks easily onto the enemy base. He knows the place well from his constant espionage; it's little effort to find his way to the RED Sniper's van off on the outskirts of the main building. He gets close enough to view his targeted destination, then waits.

The sharpshooter sat with only his gun as his company under a shoddy canopy on a fold out chair, looking it over with a scowl. The stock had a nice crack in it and the scope was hanging off the hinge slightly. He was sure he could get it back into commission before tomorrow, but if not… He had other rifles (ones he obviously didn't have a preference for). He luckily had some parts left over from the Engineer inside his van. A cheap plastic table is the temporary home for his wounded weapon as he gets up, making his way inside to gather the materials. The door is left open, as he plans to return soon enough. As he does so, he chuckles to himself about how he got that weasel with just a jar of piss. He knew that would leave a bad taste in the Spy’s mouth and a foul smell for sure. The RED opens various cabinets and started to paw through them. A couple wires, a wrench, bolts, tape and hard glue, and a beer would to the trick… hopefully.

Too easy.

His waiting is rewarded with an opening, in the literal sense. It only took what felt like a hour before he was granted easy access into the bushman's quarters. Spy follows close behind, dipping off in the opposite direction in the mobile home once inside. He doesn't have much time to admire the area, as he's immediately looking for a place to nestle himself into. There isn't much space between the two, and he shallows his breath with practiced ease. He's careful, the floor cluttered, and every other surface just as messy. It's clear the other doesn't tidy up very often. Or ever. Probably never.

More waiting. But it's fine, he's used to it. It was the main part of his job, simply biding time for the perfect moment. One had to learn restraint in his position, as every opening is delectable, but only the most promising ones could be taken.

He seats himself on the makeshift bed finally, watching the Australian exit back to his seat.

The other's crafting and repairing took longer than expected. Bad for the RED, but good for the BLU. Only when he's sure the marksman is deep in his work does he begin his. Gloved hands work through drawers and cabinets, seeking anything useful. He pauses often, ears leading his movements.

Outside, he had to tape down the scope in order to bolt the thing back together. Then he glued sealed the broken edges of the rifle on the stock to avoid getting splinters while taking a shot. He yawns, finishing off his warm beer that had accompanied his work. As he watches the sun fall over the mountains, the stars slowly begin decorate the sky. It was time for rest. He made his way indoors and took off his vest in the process.

Upon hearing the taller return inside, he almost panics, having lost track of not only on the status of his rival's position, but where he had ended up himself. In the back of the van was a sad excuse of a mattress, where he had hoped to find something hidden in the more personal facets along the sides of the worn furniture and the cabinets above. He freezes, there no room for him to climb off.

The Sniper hangs the clothing up on the back of the door then closes it, quick to flop on the bed nearby… only to be met something hard and invisible-- "What in th’ bloody hell!"

He pays for his poor positioning, a lanky body collapsing atop his form. A choked out protest is made, but he can't do much to escape, trapped underneath the other. The Frenchman shoves his arms upward, in effort to free himself. "All jou are is bones, how are jou so heavy?"

"What th’ piss are ya doin’ in my bed is th’ real question!" He shouts as he grabs for his Kukri… but he had forgot where he had placed it when he came in. He glances around, making little effort to move much, trying to keep the shorter trapped on bed. "What’n sod off everything brings ya here in th’ first place anyway?!"

In one final push, the Spy manages to dislodge the marksman, scrambling backwards up the bed. His hand reflexively brandishes his balisong, spinning the cold metal until it reveals the sharp blade. "I knew jou were poor-mannered, but is zhis truly the way to welcome company?" He's breathing heavy, screaming at his brain to shut up, to stop supplying him adrenaline, that he couldn't think straight with it all. He'd never been killed off-hours, and he has no idea what will happen. But that doesn't matter, because he's not going to die here, shut up useless brain!

"A welcome party?" Sniper scoffs as he moves onto his knees, close to the edge. "My earnest curiosity is why’re ya in a man's bed tonight an’ not runnin’ off with some lass?" Don’t get him wrong-- he’s still mad as all get up about Spy not only sneaking his way into his van but also apparently making himself at home. The RED gets off the mattress, muttering mostly to himself, "’n ya wanna talk about bones, yer not as meaty under yer deceiving suit… sack’a bones ya are."

Spy doesn't drop his guard, but his nerves do ease when the Sniper seems to give up on any violent responses. His knife is still kept in place.

Though, he finds himself laughing, it almost out of place until verbal context is given. "Jou act as if it's not territory I've trekked." It was true he had a female preference... specifically of a certain loud-mouth's, but it wasn't out of the question. He was a man that lavished in any form of enjoyment given the opportunity.

The assassin clears his throat, "Now that the pleasantries are cleared, I obviously did not come all this way to act out Little Goldilocks." It wasn’t a very comfortable bed, anyway.

"Well it's not every night I see a man in my bed with his knife out, gimme a moment to assess what yer really here for. Crikey, mate, why did’ja come out here of all places? If either of us dies here ‘n now, we don't come back... you know this." He dips his face downward, enough to show blue hues searching for an opposite pair. He leans back against the small table, a good distance now between the two.

It’s odd. Had it been a handful of months prior, Sniper could see the rogue here on… well, friendlier terms. It's obvious that this hangs in the air between them, his rigid form and pained expression the only context clues needed.

Only when the other offers a silent truce by finally relaxing, does he close and pocket his knife. He exhales deeply, sitting up properly. He adjusts his tie and straightens up a bit, sliding to sit at the edge of the bed. "Well... if jou want honesty, I was seeking revenge." He eyes the other, it delivered emotionlessly. "Perhaps... I took my emotions too far. My apologies," the last part is hurried out, and almost too silent to hear.

Silence falls on them again, and the shorter fidgets uncomfortably. Ever since he had switched teams, they'd been at each other's throats like cats and dogs. It's almost hard to imagine them not like this, all his brain supplies are moments of them ruthlessly offing one another. Under the stress of the situation, he pops open his disguise kit, drawing out a cigarette and lighting it up. He pauses, before holding one out for the other. A peace offering; for the time being, at least.

Sniper takes the cigarette after a weighted hesitance, grabbing a lighter off a cluttered counter and opens the door slightly to let the smoke out. "It may be a mess in here but I won't let ya smoke up the van. I ‘ave standards, y’anno." A feigned smirk.

He never understood why Spy left to the other team. Sure, they weren't close or anything, but he had believed them to be on good terms. As part of being a support role, communication was key. The two were professional, but took their positions seriously. The assassin would mark targets while he did his work behind the lines, and the sharpshooter would clean up whatever he left behind. They worked well together.

But now, they target one another, be it stabbing or shooting, or whatever means possible. They bickered, and while Spy tried keeping their quarrels entertaining, but the RED never seemed to take well to it, always put off and quick to end things.

What changed it all?

The rogue takes a long drag, letting it out moments later. It helps his nerves, but he's still alert. He doubts the other would actually kill him, but the Sniper was an assassinator just the same. His assumptions were unsafe to trust.

He hums a small acknowledgement, nodding. Some more silence passes, and Spy looks down at the bed he's on. He holds back his smirk, looking back up to the other. "'ave you ever had anybody in this bed?" He can't help himself but to try and get under the other's skin, still.

Sniper looks at him with an eyebrow raised, tapping ashes into a half-finished beer can on the table. "The only other thing that’s been in that there bed is my pistol."

Of course he hasn't. It starts off as a low rumble, and erupts into a bit of a sputter, before it's a full-blown laugh, snorts and all. He has a ball with it, and he chalks it up to nerves. It's clear neither know the next move, and it's fraying his nerves. He's a man of plans, and he has none right now. It was a play made in the heat of the moment, something he doesn't usually rely on, due to this very reason.

He's a sitting duck in enemy territory in his old teammate's bed. It's funny, somehow.

The Australian grits his teeth, finding the reaction much more irritating than the seemingly harmless question. Why would he ask such a ridiculous question in the first place, anyway? It seemed as if he was just trying to get a knee slap out of all this so he can go off snorting his way out the door and still somehow come out on top in this situation.

Spy calms soon enough, but he doesn't move. He doesn't know where he would even go. This seems like the safest bet, like as if he were to move he'd be killed. They were comfortable this way. But, maybe comfortable wasn't the right word. Content wasn't good either. He's sure there's a word in another one of his collected dialects, but it's not important now.

His eyes never move from the other, even though his skin is crawling and his mind is ushering him to poke around. He itches to do something with his time here, past sitting by himself in the other's bed.

"’m not sure why you even  _ bothered _ to ask that question. My question t’ you is why did’ja  **_leave_ ** . What in sod off everything made you get up ‘n prance off to the BLU team without even a notice? Some intention of betrayin’ me? The rest of th’ boys? You just packed yer bags ‘n made off like a bandit, an’ t’ even rub it in some more, day after we snatched up that damned Intel..."

Wait. The Intel. Maybe that was it. Was he bought off to make a run to the other team? Sniper got even more heated now. The rest of his cigarette is carelessly dropped into the can as he fists his hands, making his way over to the bed. He grabs him up by the lapels and the clothing beneath, giving a bit of a jerk forward to almost shake the weasel, as if he could shake sense into him.

"What made you leave?!"

He shoves him down after this, a knee nestled between the open legs that sprawl open once his back hits the lumpy mattress. He pulls back a fist, other hand returning to grab a fistful of a blue tie, lifting him by this.

Perhaps the BLU should have expected it; one should never prod a sleeping bear. Maybe mongoose was a better animal choice... He would have more time to muse on the comparison of mongooses (mongeese?) and snakes later.

Again, he's pinned on the bed, and it's not comfortable this time either. He's lifted by tie and shirt collar, and it's raw and tight around his throat. This could prove to be interesting, had the mood not be barking in his face for turning traitorous. He squints his eyes closed just barely, nose scrunched up defensively, lips curling over canines, teeth holding his cigarette. He has half a mind to just let it drop on the bed, but he doesn't want to risk a second suit today.

As soon as he has an opening to answer, it breezes out as if it were obvious, "Money." He keeps his momentum, "We are mercenaries,  _ mon ami _ ." The pet name is spat out, and he keeps on, "We ‘ave jobs, and I'm doing mine. This isn't about  _ sides _ to me, and it shouldn't to  _ jou _ . What of jour professionalizm? Jou are simply paid, regardless of win or lose. It's mindless work. I got bored. Money is the only thing that's promizing here."

He stops to consider his words, to look over the other's face for a reaction. He stops though, then smiles. It's sickly sweet, brows arching, and one could definitely see where the adjective dashing came to define him. " _ Mon ami _ ... did jou take it  **_personally_ ** ? Oh  _ mon cher _ , how delightfully  _ mignon  _ if jou, none of this is  **personal** . What is it to jou, anyway, it's not as if we were close even when we resided in the same team." He did have a point. He's actually interested in a reply.

"Mate, money or not you left th’ team. No matter how many digits, I too have a code of honor with th’ lads I work an’ fight for each day-- they’re like  _ brothers  _ t’ me ‘n here you are in a different color." He got up off Spy, pushing his back down onto the bed for the last time. " What? Was it more upscale an’ fancy lookin’ fer ya tight suit ‘n tie? Red not yer color? Sickening, y’know that." The marksman had given up smoking, but he itches for another and almost regrets wasting the rest of his previous one. He moves to sit at the corner furthest from the door, silently offering the other the room to leave.

A huff of air is knocked from him upon impact, and he makes a gruff sound as his simple reply. He glares back, rubbing his throat, his other hand taking the cigarette from his mouth, breathing the smoke out his nose. "What drew jou to this job,  _ mon cher _ ?" His tone is condescending, delivering it with a pointed look, features sharp and agitated. "Certainly not the benefits and coworkers, I'd guess."

The assassin gets off the bed, using his gained height on the other (for once) to look down at him. "Jou speak of honor, but do jou plan on doing this job forever? These men meant  _ nothing  _ to jou when you signed up, so why change  **_now_ ** ? Does it make the job  _ easier _ ?" He finishes his cigarette, flicking it carelessly somewhere to the side. He straightens up, snorting a quiet laugh. " _ As if _ . I'm sure maybe it is different for  **_jou_ ** ."

The window of opportunity closes dangerously in front of his face, Sniper aiming the found kukri to his throat.

"Now see here you pompous French rat. These men fight an’ die wit’ me on our time. We make our beds and sleep in ‘em unlike  _ other people _ and that’s not changed since you left. It may have taken some time but I grew a bond wit’ ‘em. Th’ only one that locked himself away in his little box was  _ you _ . I may sleep out here on my own but I share each ‘n every meal wit’ ‘em. What respect d’ _ you _ have when ya backstab a man ‘n don’t even face ‘em? What honor d’ya ‘ave when ya take that face of th’ corpse layin’ in front of you?"

The BLU Spy stands defiant, despite the threat. No, he would stand his ground, it was being questioned and he would stay resolute in his decisions. He may be traitorous, but at least he didn't shy away from acusations. He knew what he did.

"We may be assassins you an’ I, but when it comes to loyal allies: we never turn our backs unless there is a  _ reason _ . Money, fame, any of that shite don’t count.” Sniper’s eyes narrow, “Unless there was somethin’ yer not telling me about th’ BLU side in that briefcase."

"Jou act as if I backed myself in that situation! A spy is a  _ spy _ ; no one seeks companionship in one. Heavens forbid I try to talk to any of jou without accusations of a hidden motive! As I stated: it is different for  _ jou _ ." He embraces the blade, leaning in, tone gaining traction, heated. Spy is almost yelling by now, "It can be more than a job for jou! I cannot seek anything more out of it, so I chose to accept it. I'd imagine it'd be difficult to grasp such a concept shoved so far up jour own self-righteous ass."

Sniper tightens his hold on the grip of his knife and halts at the mention of those words. They dug deeper than the usual knife he’s so accustomed to from the other. He pauses all movement, processing everything said, the words sinking in. Was the rogue just putting on a show or was he honestly expressing himself? Nobody really trusted the Spy with all his tricks, and that’s when he truly understands where he’s coming from. As spiteful as the words came out of their mouths, Spy was right in a way, he had to accept what he had to do and do the job.

He lowers the blade with a heated sigh, stabbing it into the corner of the wooden table beside them.

"So what’re you gonna do then, mate?"

The BLU backs off only when the knife is removed from the equation. Plucking his kit out again, he chains another clove-scented cigarette. He licks his wounds, pride kicking in and chastising him for breaking stature so easily in emotion. "Jou are quick to judge by color." This is muttered out, as if it were meant to be unheard; perhaps it was.

His nerves wayside as nicotine is drawn in, then exhaled. The breath is released calmly, and the entirity of the time his steel-cold eyes remain on his rival. He gives a half-efforted shrug, "My job." It was delivered in sarcasm, and he knows it's in poor taste. But... "Would jou care any more of my wellbeing if I were RED?" A brow hikes with his question, and he breathes patience, unlike his previous display of emotion.

"Considerin’ th’ situation we are in currently, it’d take a lot of trust to regain care fer ya." Despite this, he does weigh in on the small hints Spy drops about color and sides. Maybe, just maybe…

He gives a silent, dignified snort. He wants to bite back that he didn't care, that he doesn't want it, but he swallows his pride. Time and place.

The Australian pushes himself up, wandering off to a drawer towards the front of the vehicle. With some shuffling around, he returns, producing a walkie talkie. It’s the same one the shorter had used when they were on the same team, the electronic small in the palm of his hand as he offers it to the other. "Convenient of ya to leave this behind. Ya wanna keep in touch, ya wanna rebuild my trust? Then here, show me the error of m’ ways of assumin’ yer up to no good."

Spy studies the offered item as if it would bite him. He's hesitant, only grabbing it in a swift motion to mull it over in his own gloved hands. He arches his brows again. "Jou are asking me to spy on my own team?" He didn't want to assume it was an offering of idle chit-chat to save them both the embarrassment.

"Fer fuck’s sake, mate, I'm not asking you to spy on yer team, I’m askin’ ya to jus’ speak wit’ me, make up fer lost time. You seem to have this way if findin’ me or coming t’ mess wit’ me anyway, so then why not." Sniper sits his own walkie talkie on the counter. "I don't expect ya t’ ring me up on this thing, I would assume ya’d find some way t’ come harass me." He smirks, knowing the truth.

The Frenchman’s eyes finally move from the item to a brighter pair. It almost seems like a trap, and he wonders if they were tapped. He would probably look at it closer later. For now, it's dropped in a pocket in his jacket. 

He smirks too, humming in agreement. "Sounds as if I have a job ahead of me." It's as close to teasing as he's gotten this entire exchange. Spy checks his watch, then glances outside.

The BLU clears his throat, "Well, I've overstayed my welcome, I should be going." The assassin nods towards the door. "I would appreciate if jou showed me out." This is in reference to how odd it would be for Sniper's van opening... only for him to close the door shortly after for seemingly no reason.

Sniper nods in agreement and heads for the door, hand straying on the handle. He positions himself to where his back isn’t free game, but waits for the other to join him in the doorway. Even with their unspoken pact, he wasn’t going to end up face down in the dirt. "Well then, I guess I’ll see ya on the battlefront t’morrow." And with that, he opens the door wide enough for the both of them.

Feeling the cool breeze of the night, the marksman looks around and takes in the scenery before him. The lights of each base would glow differently, showing of their differences. Good old rickety RED base with its lanterns for lights, then there was BLU and its fancy electric set up. Above it though was something not man-made but the night sky and stars themselves, a magnificent sight indeed. It was the main reason he enjoyed staying out in his van, the view alone.

He laughs mostly to himself at how the Sniper still seemed to not trust him, even with extending the want to. It's only expected. He cloaks, toeing out with the other, checking the coast before deciding to take off. He doesn't leave the other with any closure of his leave, and figured it would be a little bit fun, albeit mischievous.

He makes the trek back alone. Luckily everybody seems to have settled down for the night, leaving his journey much easier returning than having got here.

Spy remains cloaked the entire way, only dropping it after behind the safety of his own door. He weighs the gravity of the entire situation that just unraveled, and decides he's too sober to do so. He tries to mostly ignore it, tells himself that nothing will change. He begins to dress down, remembering the walkie-talkie. He inspects it thoroughly now, seated on his own bunk. He worries another cigarette as he checks it out in its entirety, and confirms that it is in fact, not tapped, or tampered with in any way. He chalks it up to his job for the distrust, and the fact that he spent way too much time on enemy lines acting much too... friendly.

A large sigh is released, and he finishes off his cigarette, and flops over to sleep. It doesn't come easy, and he's restless. This is why he kept to  _ work  _ alone, it was much easier.

Eventually, he dozes off, but it's much later than he would have liked to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if y'all haven't noticed by now... i really like using lyrics !! i've been kinda pecking at a playlist that i've been using for muse for this fic, so you can follow that mess over on spotify: https://open.spotify.com/user/rackkesque/playlist/1t4Qrdo4Wf4InzZPjZJt6u?si=oxP7j0SMRZiYV1N4LVRuXw
> 
> other than that, i really hope you guys enjoy where this story goes!! i've already kinda laid out the groundwork for what's to be-- so let's see who follows along. >w>;;
> 
> NOTE: i do not speak french and anything used is from google, feel free to correct me if you know the language!!


	3. Beat the Devil’s Tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I made myself at home in the cobwebs and the lies. I'm learning all your tricks; I can hurt you from inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All my greetings are dying wishes to get close.

Morning comes too fast. He's never been a morning person, and it is not any different this one. Though, there is a different step in his walk, and as he readies for the day, he strays a moment eyeing the walkie-talkie. He pockets it, and it's _heavy_ as leaves his room.

It's odd, really: he would normally never think twice about such a device. He's had plenty of jobs where he was tapped, and even had jobs where he was employed to spy on the _very people_ he had been employed by the tap. None of it ever took him any mind. But, it went without saying being caught with it would certainly make things murky quick, and it feels like a responsibility. He plays through useless scenarios of ridding of it in the situation it were found, excuses, and just keeping it hidden in general. He's preoccupied during their briefing, lost in such thoughts.

He doesn't use it all day. He's mostly absent from any important pushes, and stays out of sight for the majority of the fight. He only makes several plays, and they're much more calculated than usual. He disappears after the ceasefire is called, and doesn't show for lunch. Nobody thinks much of it, though, as it wasn't too out of character for a man of his employment.

Spy returns to the van around dinner time, and having remembered the sharpshooter ate with his team, he knows it will be unoccupied. The lock is easy, and he welcomes himself in.

It's incredibly hard to not snoop, so he does not repress the urge. He knows how much time he has to work with, and he does what he knows best. Nothing turns up much he doesn't already know or had guessed, and it's rather unfulfilling. He seats himself at the booth this time, elbows dug into the cheap tabletop that had been worn on the edges and in various spots on top. His chin rests on his knuckles, and he worries his third cigarette by the time he expects the arrival of the other.

Sniper tries his lock, before following the muscle memory of unlocking the door before entering. Sure enough, the door opens with ease. He sighs and shakes his head, knowing what to expect this time.

He doesn't move, doesn't flinch when the door opens. He knew exactly how long it would take the other to get here, and it doesn't come as a surprise. He only moves to flick his ash into the sink, not on the floor, unlike last night. He's not sure why, but it happens before he realizes against it. He scowls.

And just as expected, lo and behold: Spy was sitting pretty at the booth, offering a small, playful wave with his hand unattended with a cigarette.

He places his rifle and pack on the counter and sits across from him, taking off his hat and glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

His eyes don't meet Sniper's, even when he sits down across from him. They travel somewhere back behind him, and he finishes the cigarette before even considering a reply. It's obvious there's a lot on his mind, and he has no idea where to start because he doesn't even want to start, this is all so _ridiculous_ , because he's making it more of a mind game than it's intended to be. But, when it came down to it: they were enemies. This was traitorous in itself, just sitting here making polite conversation, and it's not as if being a traitor bothered him, and that's exactly why **this** bothered him.

"Yer missin’ all day an' go without sayin’ a single word an' here we are back to square one. Y’know, a good bit of your boys went down without a fight today. Good a good brush up on my skills." It's obvious he's trying to strike a nerve, but upon seeing the other unwavering in the slightest, he releases a small sigh and realizes it's not the time or place.

"So, why the secrecy?"

Spy's eyes finally line up with the opposite pair's, as if he only just noticed him. "This does not bother jou?" He realizes it's a pretty open-ended question, and it's not exactly as pointed as he'd like. He purses his lips, and he looks like he's deeply considering something. Sometimes, despite knowing a handful and a half of languages made communication just that much harder. He knows what he wants to say in his native tongue, but it'll fall on deaf ears. He tries again, offering a bit more context. "What would jour team think if they saw me sitting here, right now?" The rouge lifts his chin from his hands, and he stretches his neck, looking up, like he was straining over this conversation. His hands fall uselessly to his lap, and he quickly realizes that having them out of sight would raise suspicion. They return to the table, resting atop one another. He drums them, sighing, trying a final time. "Jou were so heated at betrayal, yet we calmly sit across one another. Why?" It barely gets the point he's trying to make across, but he gives up at this point, hoping he'd get some help.

"If ya were gonna kill me, ya would’ve done it by now. I was honestly expectin’ even before I got into m’ van ya would’a dug me in the back an’ dropped my body here on the floor, usin’ the unlocked door as a trap." He doesn't notice any traps or obvious wiretaps either. What were Spy's intentions and where does he plan to go with this? There was no use trying to dwell on it, and he chooses to try and attempt to just get it out of him.

"As fer my team, they can think what they will."

Mulling over it all, he finally nods. He releases a sigh, tension lifting from his shoulders and posture. A large amount of the weight has been dropped now, thankfully, but there's still something nagging at the back of his skull: "I'm afraid I'm perhaps not the best to select for an interperzonal relationship." It comes out exasperated, but once it's out he can finally breathe easy. Maybe it was kind of silly to be this pent up over such a small thing, but it was almost... embarrassing. Here he was, known as a dashing rogue, one to run off with your girl with ease, but he couldn't count more than two people he had ever gotten to known past job necessity. Work came first, and nothing ever followed after. He supposes maybe there's a time for everything, and it's better late than never... but he wasn't sure how to go about it in a casual way. He's sure to have many habits stick, such as digging through the other's living quarters uninvited.

It's a long pause from him, and he groans. "I need a drink."

He doesn't expect the last part, but Sniper doesn't question it. It's obvious there's a lot on that cryptic mind. "What's yer preference?" He gets up with that and started to rummage through the cabinets to find where he had hid his alcohol. He really needed to sort out this mess one day. Trash here and there and then there was all the parts for weapons and contracts from kills in the past. The only thing he knew where they were at all times was his money and some material items like trinkets from his mom. Other than that, his van was a dump pile for new and old.

The BLU leans back, arms crossing his chest, trying to just... relax. He was the one that came here, after all. "For right now, just something... _intoxicating_. I doubt jou would have anything of **preference**." His eyes cast around the area, and it bothers him he can't find anything to get to know the other better without communication. There's several odds and ends, such as gifts from family (he would guess the sniper was an only child), but it's mostly weapons. Then again, his quarters were quite the same... minus the mess. The only thing that gave any idea of personality was the other’s mess. He has half a mind to pick the area up, but figures that would probably be rude. He sits tight.

The marksman finds a bottle of cheap wine along with a bottle of whiskey and pulls two glasses out of the upper cabinet. He places them on the table, the cleaner looking one offered to his company. Both bottles have already been broken into.

"May not be any’a yer fancy stuff that you drink, but I am sure this will do the trick. Careful with th’ whiskey, though... The last thing I wanna do is drag yer drunken ass back to yer side’a the field fer yer teammates to find in the mornin’."

The assassin does a lot of watching tonight. He blames his work, but knows it's not the excuse. Hmph. "Not to worry, I do not intend getting belligerent." He offers an earnest smile, eyelids lowering some, his expression and features softening. It's a warm and genuine look, and it doesn't last long. It's as fleeting as the foggy memory of the very few times they interacted when on the same team.

Spy does a shot of the whiskey, lips scrunching up, eyes squeezing. He coughs, " _Merde_ , what is this, gasoline?" It's mostly a joke, but there is some truth to it. It burns as it goes down, and he knows several of these will definitely do the trick. He paces himself.

The other breaks out with a laugh, slapping his knee and all. "What's th’ matter, mate, you never take a hit’a whiskey before? Oh _boy_ , are we are in for a **treat**." Sniper poured his own glass of whiskey and took a good swig of it before placing his glass down with hearty breath. "That’ll put hair on yer chest if nothin’ else would."

He's defensive at first, and it shows, but he drops it just as fast. This is all in good fun, and nothing of harm is meant. They're simply enjoying their time during a ceasefire during a godforsaken war that's lasted generations. _Enjoy yourself_ , he assures himself.

"Perhaps... what I've had had been... _raffiné_?" He thinks for a moment, then translates best he can. "Processed... Refined, _ah_ , that's the one." He nods to himself, and pours another shot's worth. He inspects it before downing it, this one a bit easier now that he knew what to expect.

Spy watches his drinking partner, pulling a face at how easy he took it. He imagines trying finely aged wine with him, and wondered how plastered he would get. He smirks to himself. "Perhaps we should try something that is not rubbing alcohol one day, _mm_?" He wonders how easily he could get some real liquor in.

"That's on you, lad, ya just asked for somethin’ t’do th’ trick. If you ever want t’ drink more than whiskey then let me know… there’s more than just wine that’s worth tryin’." He took another sip of his drink, weighing on it for a moment. "Wait, what’re you goin’ on about?" He folded his arms and placed them on the table, leaning in slightly and inspecting the both of the bottles.

He thinks he will stick to the whiskey, he's certain the wine would only hurt his feelings. He'd hate to see how bastardized they had treated such a fine alcohol. He takes out one of his sweet-smelling cigarettes, lighting it, and hums pleasantly as it clears his palate, albeit momentarily… He takes another shot, grimacing just the same.

"Mm?" Spy's head tilts a little, then catches where the confusion came from. "Ah, pardon my French." He stops to snort a short laugh at this, realizing his usage was not as the saying intended. "I had meant I am used to, mm, how you say..." The assassin already begins to feel a bit of a fog in his way of thinking, and he wonders what the alcohol content was. It was most likely a drink intended to get you shit-faced, and less for flavor. "Well-cared for wines. France has highly set standards for our drinks."

The marksman was obviously well-acquainted with the drink, it not hitting him just yet. However, he does feel the warmth start to flow through his veins. Pleasant and warm, but not foggy. "So, what, ya spend a couple grand onn’a single bottle just t’ get buzzed?"

The BLU glares at the opposite team’s member. "Wine isn't for getting drunk. It's about flavor, food pairings, health, indulgence... I can go on, but I believe jou can get the point." He eyes the whiskey, waving dismissively at it. His accent rolls a bit thicker off his tongue, "Leave liquor to that job." He doesn't even consider drinking any more of it. A slight buzz had already settled in, warm and heavy, and that's as far as he would go with it. Intoxication by alcohol was never something he sought often: he had too many important things on his shoulders to not keep a sober mind.

He straightens, "Why did jou seek employment ‘ere?" It's not exactly a smooth conversation change, but he thinks starting with the basics of how they got here would help them start off on the right foot this time around.

The sharpshooter had to think about that for a moment. "Steady job, mate. Y’know how hard it is to live by contracts when everyone else is out there ready t’ take yer job. Going up against other assassins such as yerself... There’s always someone better than you ‘n always has been." He takes one last shot of his booze before getting up, taking the glasses to go clean them off and put away the cheap poisons. "That's what most’a these lads are here fer. But, myself… I guess havin’ people to work with is’a nice change. Yer not just fightin’ t’ stay alive an’ keep yerself fed. Ya get company, do your job, and then get paid. Easy."

Spy nods absentmindedly, eyes falling on his hands drumming anxiously on the table. He's appreciative of the alcohol, it's done a good job of easing his nerves, but his mind is still racing at a steady pace. A silent, "I see..." slips out eventually, and he watches the other move about the van. It made sense, and it closely answered how he would… minus the company part. He found relationships of any kind to be dead-weight, and on the outside, where it mattered: they left you _vulnerable_. Despite this, it seemed they could actually be more similar than he thought.

There isn't much more to that conversation, so he thinks on a new one. "What of jour family?" He tried to pick safe topics, straying from anything too personal, or anything the other would accuse him of doing his job on him. It was hard, considering all he really knew was his job.

"Family, aye..." He finishes up with the dishes, setting them on a towel to air dry. "M’ dad is a big shot business-type guy an’ me mum is stay-at-home. She’s supportive til’ th’ day m’ job kills me... my dad? Not so much." He was curious to understand why all the questions, but it was a nice change of pace from being at each others’ necks. He chalks it up to attempted conversation, seeing as there seemed to be something still hanging in the air between them, causing mild strain even past the alcohol.

"Only child?" The shorter muses aloud, mostly to prove himself correct. Perhaps he would never shake his profession slipping into personal matters. At least it helped with controlling conversation, he was trained in gaining information, a helpful tool in getting to know a person.

"Yeah. Mum an’ Dad decided it’d be best if they only had one. Dad saw the ‘disappointment’ I came out to be... killin’ fer a living, not put on some suit an’ sit att’a desk.” He gives a simple shrug, turning to lean against the counter. “Plus, we weren’t very well off… they wanted t’ only keep t’ one mouth t’ feed.”

The rogue nods again, smiling. "I ‘ad azzumed you were a single child." He preens, but continues to shoot down that line of thinking the other has. "Non, not a disappointment. Jou pay jour bills and get up every morning. Jou're fine enough off."

"Wish my dad would feel th’ same way, but what can’ya do, mate?" Sniper sighed with that and went back over to sit down, beginning to feel a bit of the fog of the liquor. Standing wasn’t probably a good idea.

He can understand the feeling of searching for affection from an emotionally distant father. Perhaps not to the same degree, but he was aware. "Unfortunately, not much." His eyes follow the other as he sits back down. He frowns. "I did not mean to bring up old wounds."

"We all carry our own scars ‘n we choose to live with ‘em. It's what ya decide to do with ‘em that counts.” He goes silent after that.

Spy takes that as his cue to speak again, trying to bring it off such a solemn note. It would be only fair if he divulged a bit about his own kin. "Mon père was never around much... very buzy man. He kept mon mère and mon sœur well-cared for... Never too affectionate, ‘owever." He gazes ahead of himself, lost in thought. "He in’erited the grape farm." His gaze flicks over to Sniper, offering a smirk. "Wine runz down mon family line thicker than blood." He tries to sit a bit more relaxed, and gets a bit more animated with hand gestures, and begins opening up about his childhood and how he got into his line of work. He speaks highly of his sister, and the alcohol begins sharing more about his life up until now.

He's a natural speaker, it'd be hard to do his job if he wasn't. He doesn't over-share, however. Everything he gives the other is simply complementary information, but not anything to get himself in trouble. Nothing that probably wasn't aired out in his intel folder.

A long pause hangs between them once the BLU finishes. Sniper takes his turn to ask questions: "What is it you seek outta all this, Spy?”

He looks up with a hum. "Mm? Out of what?" 

"Out of this job? Ya asked me ‘n I figured now I’d ask th’ same. Ya seem to be interested in my professional life, so now what of yers?" He was earnestly curious of what made Spy… well, Spy. What was it all for? Personal gain, rank, or was it all really just for the money, like he said the previous night.

The shorter nods, listening wholy before replying. "Not too much different from jourself, I suppoze. Steady work... I would argue it was much more mentally stimulating when I was first brought on, but that was also a conzideration." His brow arches, a small grin curling up over his lips. "There's alzo the plus of not being jailed for mindless killing." His hands come together in thought. "Traveling, not searching for employers... nothing too exciting, I'm afraid."

They make idle chatter for a bit longer, and Spy looks at his watch. Drowsiness had slowly been hazing over him, and he knows he should leave soon. It's late, and they have to go back to killing one another tomorrow. He can't remember the last time he's stayed awake this long willingly, and actually enjoying himself doing so. "Well, all good things muzt come to an end eventually... I should be going." It doesn't sound like he really wants to, but they did have a job. He shouldn't even be here in the first place. He nods at the door, signalling a repeat of last night. However, when he scoots out of the booth, moving to stand, he stumbles some. He gives a light, airy laugh. “Ahah, jour cheap liquor certainly doez its job.”

Sniper halts him and gently places his hand on his shoulder. "Why don't’cha stay here the night, mate? Don’t worry-- I’ll sleep in the driving cab, ya can take over th’ bed. Rather ya not squander off an’ get caught like this." Maybe it was a bit bold of him to make such an offer, but the last thing they needed was getting caught… and if the Spy was already stumbling, he doubts he’d be anything he’d need to be to get back to his bunk unnoticed. "Wouldn't want’cha t’ catch a cold on th’ way back," he teases immediately after, hoping to make the gesture a little less awkward.

He looks at the other incredulously, and he wonders if it's a joke. His gaze falls on the hand that stills him, and it takes him a moment to process all of it. He shakes his head no. " _Non_... I really shouldn't. I appreciate jour concern--" The palm that engulfs his shoulder is a pretty good argument, and he is pretty tired already...

Sniper cuts him off without hesitation, "Won't say it again, mate: stay here th’ night." His palm finally releases its hold, but his eyes take over the responsibility of holding the other in place. "I can get ya some water ‘n a few blankets."

His lip straightens into a thin line, and he weighs the situation. Spy lifts his hands in mock defeat, offering a kinder expression of humor. "I suppoze my mind ‘as been made up. I will stay."

The RED offers a lopsided smile, glad he finally gets his desired outcome. Sniper moves to the fridge, looking for the promised water. “I ain’t the best at hostin’ sleepovers, but I’m sure yer not expectin’ anything extravagant.” The joke is mostly voiced into the refrigerator, but is audible enough to get a soft laugh out of the other, who begins taking off his shoes and shouldering off his jacket. A couple of bottles of water are sat on the counter in front of his company, the shorter undoing his tie. He stands there momentarily, before motioning to the cabinet above the other’s head. “Bedding’s up there, mate, if ya don’t mind.”

The rogue catches the hint, sliding out of the booth, then offering a gesture towards the needed spot with a smile. “All jours.” He moves to the bed, sitting a bit stiff at the edge of the bed. His brain is warm and heavy, limbs fuzzy and comfortable. He’s sure he could sleep just fine without any bedding, but knows it will probably get colder as the night grows older.

He’s tossed a pillow, reaction time almost missing it; he’s grateful it’s a large object, leaving little room to not grasp it last minute. Sniper shuffles around a bit more, before giving a soft sound of thought.

“Huh, thought I had more blankets… I’m sure you’ll be fine with what’s there, even though yer scrawny as all get-out. I’d like t’have a couple up in the front, if ya don’t mind.”

He simply rolls his eyes. “I’ll be fine, take what jou need.”

A pillow and two blankets are rolled up and held under the sharpshooter’s arm, closing the cabinet. His other hand is busied with grabbing two of the four cold bottles. "Jus’ be sure t’ leave quietly… nobody comes out here anyway, ya should be fine if ya leave early enough.” He moves the water to the arm with the bedding to open the door to move to the front. He hangs in the doorway for a moment, before nodding his head and offering a silent, “Have an easy sleep there, mate." And with that, he vanishes into the brisk night, door shut quietly behind himself.

Spy nods after him, yawning. Sleepiness starts coating his brain, and it hits him harder and faster than he anticipated. He makes sure to down at least half of a water bottle, as dehydration would lead to a nasty migraine tomorrow. The last thing he needed…

He doesn’t bother listening to the other getting settled in as he sets up his own sleeping arrangements. He's a little hesitant, and it's almost... awkward. This would be the second time he'd been in the sharpshooter's bed, and neither time for any pressing reason. He shakes this from his thoughts, telling himself he would only make matters more awkward. The rouge takes one last gulp from the water before nestling in, and he supposes it's more comfortable than his supplied bed. He understands why the other preferred it to a room. It doesn't take very long for his consciousness to drift off, silencing any sleepless thoughts that dared start to brew, fortunately just too late.

When he awakes, it's still dark out. He comes to, startled, terrified of over-sleeping. It's several minutes before the alarm he had set, and he breathes easy. The last thing he needed to deal with was explaining why he was late to briefing. He shoulders back on his jacket, puts his belt through its loops, and he tries remembering when he even bothered to get partially undressed. His head only has a slight ebb of pain to it, and he finishes the now lukewarm bottle of water. He looks around, making sure he hasn't left any part of his get-up behind. Once pleased, he cloaks, and silently makes his way out of the van. The door is closed gently, and he quickly toes back to his assigned team's side.

The day goes by rather uneventfully, but he can tell last night's drinking wasn't as nice to Sniper. There's a lot of missed shots, and they win for the day. Spy doesn't visit that night.

He supposes about a week goes by, and he shows up without warning several times, despite having the walkie-talkie still in both party's position. It's more his style, and it's way more fun for him. They only ever drink one other time, and it's after a particularly rough day. It ended in a stalemate, much like the first day this all began. They share a bit more of past stories, but Spy does not stay the night again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all!! it's been a lil' over two weeks... i haven't forgotten about you lovelies!! i had planned to update this on a weekly basis, but i was also on a hiatus from my other various projects due to moving at the time, so... maybe every other week or so will be the schedule for this? as of right now, i do have about a chapter or two extremely rough drafted (like skeleton bone thin), but we'll see!! i'll try and get at LEAST an update a month depending on how life goes... if you're interested in being kept in the loop on when i plan on posting next/where i'm at update-wise, i made a writing twitter!!: https://twitter.com/killewich
> 
> other than that... enjoy some groundwork!! i guess this chapter would kinda be considered fluffed filler, but if you care to know a bit more about my adaptations of the characters, i guess it'll be interesting... sorry nothing cool and action-y happens, but we got a story to get through here!! i hope it's entertaining enough. ;w;'' <3
> 
> CONTINUING NOTE: i do not speak french and anything used is from google, feel free to correct me if you know the language!!


	4. He’s Raised on the Edge of the Devil’s Backbone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Been talking about it until I killed my voice, but it didn't change a single thing. It's that simple truth that always means the most to you, and you know it; so just say it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Won't you stay awhile? I will take your side.

Mann Co. generally wasn't one that would strike anybody as a workplace that would win any awards for its employee relations... So, it would easily come as a surprise that they even bothered with an Employee Appreciation Day. It's a day off, a Friday, and they have the following weekend off as well (probably something to do with labor laws or the like). The entire day is a ceasefire: however, the respawn is still on (probably for any ‘ _accidents_ ’), and there are no strict rules on either team remaining on their own side. It's filled with drinking and partying, both Engineers setting up a barbecue, various mercs arm wrestling (and soon after, _actually_ wrestling), and a lot of overall testosterone. It's a day they can forget about the war, for once; the only one they get out of three-hundred sixty-five.

As expected, both team's spies mostly keep to themselves, BLU's keeping to the sidelines. He assures everyone he's only here for the food, as it's something as close to edible as he can get in this shithole. He drinks by himself, enjoying the sunlight that washes over him.

RED's Sniper takes a sip from his bottle, watching BLU's Heavy try to sing to some home-brewed karaoke, laughing softly under his breath. The large bloke’s thick accent made for quite the bit of entertainment, but his mind wandered elsewhere… eyes soon following. He looks around the area though and finally finds the sought after face off from the crowd. He almost rolls his eyes, because of course the Spy was keeping to himself despite everything going on. Silently contemplating heading over, he just averts his gaze temporarily.

It's hardly 5 PM and Spy already has a nice buzz settling over him like a warm blanket. There wasn't much else to do that interested him, and he was one to people watch. It was like studying for his job.

Everything was always about his job.

He spots Sniper heading over, sitting up a bit, collecting himself a touch more than his previous sprawled out posture. Other than this, the BLU seems to not even notice him arrive, but the marksman knows better. "So, Mate, you just gonna sit here all by yer lonesome or come ‘n join us, if not m’self, in the festivities?"

Spy shakes his head no. "Non... all of zhis? Not really for me. I'm just ‘ere for the food." He offers a small smirk behind his glass.

The RED chuckles. He takes another swig of his beer, letting the flow of intoxication slowly sink in. He had had a few drinks himself, but knew the food would balance it out so far. He leans back, eyes falling on his half empty bottle as if he was nervous about something. He throws caution to the wind, taking advantage of the fact that his tinted shades hid his eyes.

"Ynno, always treatin’ this like a job takes all the fun outta it. Why not come take a seat with me in th’ crowd ‘n take yer mind off things? That's what we’re here fer..."

A thoughtful hum rests between them, and he only speaks after the offer goes stale. "Non," he repeats. "I'm plenty enjoying myself as is." He's sure the other will pressure him into agreeing, just like that night he slept over. Sniper is big on community, as Spy was not. He preferred to keep to himself. An introvert with extroverted skills, if you will.

"Count yourself lucky I'm zhis close." It almost sounds like he's teasing the other. Almost.

Sniper put his arm around Spy’s shoulders as he leans in and laughs again. "Awe, c’mon, have’a few more drinks ‘n loosen up a bit. There’s plenty enough fer ya to do an’ eat in the mix of it all."

He pauses, then decides to pop back with, "Look’it me, th’ Spy, dark ‘n broody me gonna sit in th’ corner an’ be a party pooper."

He had visibly tensed at the physical contact, shoulders sharp and alert. It's not exactly as if it were unwelcome... just... _unexpected_. There's also the fact that the only physical contact between them had ever been with ill intent. He does calm, however, as the marksman teases back. Spy is on a syllable of a response just as he's interrupted by his team's Scout. 

“Ain't this just precious, ya both should see how cute ya look—”

A scowl fits him defiantly, but it doesn't last long.

“Piss off, ‘fore I go ‘n ask m’ Spy fer yer baby pictures t’ go up on th’ projector.”

Sniper shoots back something that actually makes him laugh, but he blames it on nerves and the cheap booze. The runner grumbles something unintelligible under his breath before darting back to the main area the festivities took place at. Spy heaves a light sigh when it's only them again.

"Jou are quite convincing... But, why does it seem to bother jou I sit this event out, hmm?" His head tilts slightly.

"We can't all be alone today, mate, c’mon. Let's enjoy ourselves fer once." Sniper points to an abandoned table, the one he had been seated at just prior. "Look, nobody there t’ bother us an’ ya got no excuse t’ say no." His brows arch, slowly realizing he’s still got his arm around the other. Had he not been slightly boozed, he'd almost be embarrassed and release him… but that's not the case, and he instead brings him in a bit closer and sways him back and forth. “C'mon.” It's the last time he presses, and it's now that he lets go in favor of heading off to the targeted table, sure the fellow assassin would follow.

He can't deny that the man's insistence and enthusiasm was charming. He offers a warm look as he watches the other practically bound off to begin setting up a feast for the two of them. He had said he was only here for food, and food was the fastest way to a man's heart. So, in Sniper's defense, Spy had no excuse to not tread behind him.

It wasn't immediate, though. It does take him a moment to sigh, and finally pry himself from his comfortable chair off on the outskirts of the barn. He finishes the bottle, leaving it behind. He trudges over, hyper-alert to eyes falling on him as he nears in. Had he been a type prone to self-conscious issues, he'd surely scamper back to where he was prior. But, he does not, and he simply replies with a nasty look. Nobody questions it.

He sits in front of the taller, eyes traveling over each dish. It's hard to pick where to start, but he eventually does. He almost misses the bottle of wine, having not noticed it in the initial set up he had watched, brows arching. "What's zhis?"

Sniper looks up from his proud work and over at Spy. "Oh, that there is one’a those expensive fancy wines ya were going on about th’ other night. Found it when I went into town earlier today. Figured it’d be a nice lil’ gesture... and if ya don't mind th’ gesture, I'd like to dig in." He starts with some of the barbecue before pouring the two each a glass, having abandoned his empty beer bottle by now.

The rogue smiles. It's pretty genuine, and he's sure to scrub it off his face as quick as it comes... but knows it's pointless as it's soon caught, a smile being returned. He nods, allowing the other to dig in, doing the same soon after. He's of course more interested in the alcohol than the food, and appreciates when the cork is finally removed and each are fitted with a glass. He swirls the glass, and it's not the proper ware for a white wine, but he digressed... He inhales the smell, humming thoughtfully. It would be pretty dry. He sips at it, and is surprised that it... actually tastes good? His eyes fall on the other, and his expression is mixed, but none of it particularly bad. _Color him impressed_.

He eats silently. Stuck in thought, he almost forgets he has company.

Sniper, even though slightly intoxicated by now, was happy to see that Spy was enjoying himself. Or so he had hoped... The few days on and off they spend hanging out and talking about the past helped him feel closer to his old partner now more than ever. He focused back on the food that the Engineers cooked and started to drown out all the background noise leaving himself to think. He leans in, kinda quiet.

"Hey, Spy. Wanna head back to th’ van after this? We can take th’ bottle… I'm sure ya really don't wanna be here."

He actually jumps a bit at Sniper's voice. He zones back in, clearing his throat and giving a silent apology for being distracted.

"I'm a thoughtful alcoholic," he offers weakly, some humor in his tone. He settles back down and considers the offer.

"Jou wanted so badly to get me out here, and now jou wish to drag me back off with only jour company?" He's teasing again. His elbows rest on the table, chin on his knuckles… the usual posing.

"Doesn't look like yer havin’ fun, figured a change in scenery might do th’ trick." He finishes off his first glass.

Sniper wasn't trying to be too obvious, but it had been a while since he had enjoyed someone's company. It was odd enough to him for wanting to spend time with the enemy as much as he has already, but to be fair… they had been allies at one point.

Spy’s brows rise. "What did jou expect? For me to suddenly begin enjoying group activities?" It comes out a little meaner than intended, and he scowls, immediately following it up with a small, "Désolé." His eyes cast down, and he thinks for a moment. Eye contact is only reestablished when he knows how to say what he has phrased in his native tongue. "I'm sure jou... understand. I'm not much of a... hm." What was that phrase? "People person." He nods, affirming it more so to himself than the other.

Leaving was a good idea, though.

He makes a move to get up, rather eager to get out of the light of such a large gathering. He was a behind-the-scenes type, only coming into the people's eye if it were deemed necessary, despite his personality… or perceived personality, at least.

"One might think I'm th’ same since I'm always cooped up somewhere by m'self, but it just ain't healthy always keepin’ t’ yerself.” Sniper leads the way to the van with no further discussion between the two. 

Once ‘home,’ he opens the door, setting up two folding chairs stashed behind the booth outside. A box fits as a makeshift table and he pulls out the canopy that was fitted on the side. Noticing it was starting to get near sunset, he set up a lit lantern, hooking it on the end of the canopy to cast a warm glow underneath the thick canvas-like material. "There," he exhales proudly, looking over his work once again as the Spy slinks into a seat, having silently watched the entire time, setting the bottle onto the box. He took one more look at the scene and went back in, pulling out a small radio to finish off the setup. He smiles, setting it up on the table behind the alcohol. "Even better."

Spy gets comfortable only when the other finally sits, eyeing the radio. "What type of music can jou pick up out ‘ere?"

"Just about any. From jazz t’ rock y’nno. Depends on yer taste. I had Engineer modify it fer me so we can pick up a signal for miles." He relaxes and closes his eyes as he cranes his neck back, as if he could sleep right there… but his head lifts back up, watching the sun set. Something feels… nice about this. ‘ _This_ ’ being sharing a beautiful sunset with the first person to use his spare chair: who would have ever thought it would have been his perceived enemy?

He gives his usual thoughtful hum as a temporary reply before moving to mess with the radio. Gloved hands fidget with the thing, soon figuring out its sweet spots for channel tuning. He flips through several, weighing the limited options he has. He picks a clear blues channel, and leaves it on temporarily. He figures the low whine of bass complimented the sunset. Spy sits back down, reclining. He hums along, the song that comes on next sounding familiar.

Time passes as they listen to the low music, chattering on about the crazy things that have happened in their work prior to Mann Co.. 

They finish the bottle before either realize it.

Sniper was starting to feel really weighed down by the wine at this point and looked to Spy. "Wanna dip inside before it gets cold?"

The rogue yawns, only a little drowsy after the long day of lounging, food, and alcohol. He nods, moving to collect their things and move it all inside. He seats himself in his normal spot in the booth.

Sniper takes a seat across from him like always and slumps back, looking up at the roof. Today was fun and very eventful when he looked back on it. And best yet, he was able to spend more time with his old ally. He couldn't help but enjoy spending time with him, and it was nice to have the guise of a ceasefire to cover for more. He doesn't think much of it, though. They were just two old teammates making up for lost time.

Silence hangs between them for a moment, before a soft, content sigh breaks it.

"Today was nice."

The RED smiles, his goal achieved. He prides himself with this, knowing the other was tough company to please. Slouching back down to look at the assassin, he can't help but smirk a bit. “See, it ain't so scary makin’ friends sometimes.”

Things fall almost eerily silent after this, and Sniper wonders if he's said something wrong— they were friends, right?

A cleared throat is the only response he gets, and tension coats the air.

Finally: “I don't believe I'm exactly a person one would like to consider a ‘friend’.”

Sniper knows where this is going, remembering this topic having been very touchy their first time Spy had been in his van… but so much progress had been made since then, the other couldn't really still be hung up on it, right? He scowls, forearms meeting the table and leaning in some, eyes locked on the icy pair opposite of him.

“I trust ya, ya bloody idiot.”

The rogue grimaces, eyes downcast, avoiding contact. He then looks off to the side, lips pursed in thought. He only reaffirms eye contact when he has a response. “That's probably not for the best.”

The Australian gets frustrated. Does he mean to suggest all this time they've spent with one another meant nothing? He had thought he was actually finally making a breakthrough with the stubborn, icy persona the other wore so well. He knew better, he's seen below the ice... It may have been still cold, but nowhere near as frigid as he put off.

“Ya can play th’ self pitying game all ya want, but ya can't sit here an’ look me in th’ eye an’ honestly mean ya haven't genuinely felt somethin’. I know ya take yer job more seriously than ya should, but this hasn't just been work the entire time, an’ y’nno that. Pretend if it makes it easier t’ stomach, but I know fer a fact this hasn't just been some big ol’ act th’ entire time.”

Being met with more silence doesn't help the Spy's case, but the sharpshooter refuses to buy it.

“If it has, then I need to know, and I'll jus’ go back to treatin’ ya like the lyin’ snake ya always been.” A scowl fits him tightly, and he wants to reach over and start shaking the man in hopes of knocking some sense into that stupid brain of his.

Spy bides the time by pulling out his disguise kit, plucking out a cigarette and goes to light it— and then he feels strong palms meet his shoulders.

The rogue stiffens out of reflex, and isn't too sure what to do. He must be more sober out of the two, so he assumes responsibility. "I believe rest would do jou good." He moves to free himself from the weight of the other, eyes warning.

His hands remain, but his face floods with something mixed between a kicked puppy and a prodded bear.

He scowls at how the sharpshooter responds to him. He hadn't meant to shut him down, he just knew they were both drunk. He would hate to ruin something over an accident.

The sniper grabs fistfuls of his suit and many other layers of clothing below, now looking pained. “Ya fuckin’ piece'a shite, answer me.”

“Let go.”

It's a calm and collected response, unphased. He searches icy hazel for something, _anything_ , but finds nothing. It's defeating, and he eventually does let go, hands dropping lifelessly to the table, gaze following them. “Don't lie t’ me,” he looks back up, hurt. “Prove t’me yer more than what everybody thinks of ya, I know that's what yer afraid of— I see through that, yer not that—”

Spy finally lights his cigarette once he's allowed control of his arms again. He takes a drawn out hit, exhaling downwards. “I appreciate jour attempts of trying to ‘change’ me, but I'm afraid I cannot be capable of—”

“Shut yer fuckin’ trap right now, y'hear? I ain't buyin’ yer bullshite yer tryna pull— Yer actin’ like I'm treatin’ ya like some charity case, like if I prove yer capable of feelings I can go ‘n tell everybody of my success. Yer my goddamn friend, an’ I know it. If ya wonder why nobody trusts you, it's cause'a this. Stop acting like I'm tryna sabotage ya somehow, not everybody is out t’ wrong ya. Ya really can't mean t’ tell me all the time we've spent has been fer some excuse to gather intel on me, cos I’ll call ya on yer bullshite right now.”

He stands. "I'll see jou tomorrow." It's not a question, but a firm statement. His eyes are above the other's head, focused on the door.

“Yer not weaselin’’ outta this so goddamn easy, sit back down.”

The Spy remains standing, tapping the ash into a tray, eyes everywhere but on the marksman. “We cannot be friends.”

“Ya mean t’ tell me now ya are gonna follow the rules? Yer really gonna fuckin’ lie to my face right now?”

He sighs deeply, finally looking the seated man in the eyes. “Is jour job really worth someone like me—”

“Oh come th’ fuck on, stop playin’ this whole fuckin’ thing like yer so dangerous an’ incapable of bein’ human.”

Finished with trying to enjoy his cigarette, he flicks the still burning thing into the tray, face set. “Tell me, when these next two days pass and we are back on the field that jou would not hesitate given the perfect opportunity at a shot to kill me.”

Sniper's face drops. His eyes search again for any shred of the man he's spent his past time with, but finds... nothing. He hesitates, deeply considering the question—

“Because I would not.”

The marksman winces, but refuses to give up. The other may be stubborn, but he was unrelenting. He reclines back in his chair, letting out a laugh that confuses the other. “Y'nno, this whole act is really cute. I see what yer tryna do, tryna chase me off like yer the big bad wolf an’ yer tryna ‘save me’ from ya. I ain't scared. Our work is work, but if ya really were so bad, I wouldn't still be here. You've had many'a chances to gut me emotionlessly, but instead ya enjoy my company. I know yer a good actor, but I ain't fallin’ fer this shite, sorry Mate.”

Spy sighs, defeated. “Why are jou so persistent?”

“‘Cuz a real friend doesn't let their broody lil’ fuck try’n sabotage their whole relationship ‘cuz he gets scared over showing some feelings for another person. Yer not weak for havin’ friends, idiot.”

He breathes harshly through his nose, frown growing. “My work comes first. Always has, always will. Nobody will get in the way of that.”

“I have no doubts ya will be able t’ kill me when we're out on the field, mate. Don't sweat it. Let me worry about m’self, aight? If things ever get in th’ way of our work an’ we hesitate like yer so worried about, then we can call it quits if that makes ya feel any better. Deal?”

The BLU weighs the words, outwardly frustrated. Why did this moron continue to press the matter? Why was he so sure of him and their relationship?

He finally sighs out a weak, “Deal.”

The Sniper gives a small smile, then motions to the door, welcoming him to leave if he so wished.

It's not as late as he usually leaves, but it certainly felt like it. His walk back feels ages longer as he over-analyzes the entire exchange, trying to place where he stood on it. He's sure a sober mind would do better, and leaves it at that, pushing it all from his mind. Instead, he thinks of his shower and bed.

It doesn't stay like that for long, but he'd be damned if he would admit this would remain on his mind as fleeting as he acted.

He broods silently through his entire shower and nightly routine, taking to bed immediately after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOWWIE this chapter ended up deviating from original plans but in the end, it actually helps along the plot more than i anticipated, so... happy mistakes? anyway, enjoy more of these idiots being idiots... because that's all it is. :") i promised slowburn and i'm gonna deliver.
> 
> also thank you to those who reached out on twitter with interest in an update... i am very self-depreciating and was under the impression nobody really cared for more, but it seems that i was very sorely mistaken, so i apologize for the wait!! i'll definitely be working on more now that i have rejuvenated energy for this story, and your continued support means a ton!! <3 i'm going to try and find a comfortable updating schedule, but as always, i'm most active on twitter: https://twitter.com/killewich
> 
> CONTINUING NOTE: i do not speak french and anything used is from google, feel free to correct me if you know the language!!


	5. I'm No Heavenly Body

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why're you wasting your time with me? Why're you wasting your time? You know I'm no good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's my confession: I've got a death wish.

He doesn't have any plans for the weekend, but he does know he told Sniper he'd come back.

Bleary eyes read ungodly hours in the morning, head pounding as a nice little reminder of how much he’d drank last night. He slinks to his desk, pawing through things with only the light of his desk lamp, finally uncovering some aspirin. He swallows two of them with the aid of what’s left of his glass of lukewarm water he crawls back into bed, knocking back out for several more hours.

The BLU sleeps in through his hangover, luckily, waking around noon. It’s probably the latest he’s slept in in a while, and it feels…  _ odd _ . Sitting up, he rubs the lingering sleepiness out of his eyes, head only a small throb now. The assassin knows some caffeine and food would help ride out the rest of his symptoms, and idly wonders if lunch is still available. He slowly crawls out of bed and goes about his morning routine, a little rushed in hopes of getting at least some sort of food in his system.

He luckily catches the tail end of the mess hall closing, taking a plate to go, headed off to the small break room that had a coffee maker. He makes enough for one cup, sitting down and eating the barely warm food. It’s easy to get the excuse of a meal down, much of the food here laughable in comparison to what he’s used to. Spy hopes the war ends soon, if only to get some palatable food.

After finishing and washing his plate, he takes the hot mug with him, sure to drink enough so if he’s bumped into that he wouldn't end up wearing it (as if he’s had any experience with this at all). The rogue begins to head back to his room, finally feeling refreshed… and it’s then he absentmindedly wonders if a certain RED has nursed his hangover yet. He scowls at this thought, but knows he has promised his word, and he is to return at some point today.

It’s not until after dinner that he makes his way off to the van, knuckles raised to knock— but it feels odd doing so. Normally, he just lets himself in. So, he does just that.

Sniper was sitting at the booth, working on one of his rifles. It had been a pretty uneventful day, and he can only just confirm he’s worked out his hangover. This shows on his face, but it doesn’t bother rising when the BLU enters.

The Frenchman scoffs silently and rolls his eyes, standing there momentarily, expecting some sort of response. His brow arches at the lack of a welcome, and he almost wonders if he had overstayed it after last night. "...are jou busy?" He doesn't step in, but hangs in the small cutout of stairs, door still open.

Perhaps he had assumed too much, maybe he should have given the Australian more time… or maybe he had given too much. He's not too sure what to do, and he definitely doesn’t enjoy the awkward air that hangs between them.

"Not at all, com’in..." Sniper finally casts a look from above his yellow-tinted shades, head nodded at the chair that  _ he _ normally sat in.

The shorter nods, making his way in silently, closing the door behind himself. There's no doubt, there is an elephant in the van with them. He ignores it. Instead, he thinks about how much more comfortable the booth was in comparison to this chair.

“Want some water?”

Spy softly snorts at the offer, knowing neither of them wanted to touch alcohol after yesterday. He hopes the sound would lift the atmosphere, but it does not. "I'd love some." He smiles, it warm and seemingly genuine. It lasts a moment longer than its welcome, longer than most had… but it’s not as if it truly matters, as a look is never casted his way the entire exchange. A scowl fits his features instead.

The marksman gets up and grabs a bottle of water for each of them, setting one in front of Spy and cracks his own open as he sits down in the same spot as before. He isn't sure what to say at first, but makes a gesture to try for some small talk. "How’re you feelin’ after last night's drinking?" He selects his words carefully, making sure to include the word ‘ _ drinking _ ’. Leaving the statement too open could cause for an unsavory topic route, and after last night, he’s not in the mood of delving into it again.

Spy opens the lid, sipping some of it thoughtfully, biding time. His hands encircle the bottle once it comes back to rest on the table, and his eyes fall on the opposite pair. "I slept in... Quite a headache." There's a slight laugh, it dry and almost fake, and he continues, "Nothing some pain meds and water can't fix." 

Silence falls on them, it thick and strangling.

The BLU is the first to crack. "Where did jou find that wine?"

"I did a little research. I figured it was good ‘cause it had a fancy name."

The rogue takes this as an attempt of a joke, but it doesn’t hit the right note. Something’s obviously bothering the other more than he had anticipated, conversation even strained. He gives a thoughtful hum, letting Sniper's comment hang in the air for a moment. "It was rather well-known in my hometown," he lies easily, trying to find some sort of footing. The assassin notes the Sniper's slightest ease of nerves, and takes that direction. He continues on about the type of wine it was, the difference between red and white (and even rosé). He knows carrying on a topic like this would further calm the other, and he handles the topic with ease.

And finally, the RED cracks, joining in with a small question.

Spy delightfully answers, and the elephant shrinks. Perhaps only due to distraction, but he’ll take it. Awkward silences were not something he made the trek all the way over here for.

The Sniper is well aware of the situation though, knowing all the other was trying to do was side-step the tension. He lets it slide for the rest of the conversation, but as soon as it shows signs of ending, he bites out: “Why’re you here?”

All progress made is shot down with the question, and he credits the marksman for calling his bullshit yet again. Not aloud, of course, but mentally. “I ‘ad said I would come back.” He drops this with ease, sipping at his water.

“And that’s it?”

The BLU frowns, brows furrowing. He knows he wasn’t the best company last night, but this pointed conversation was certainly not deserved. Maybe it was something that had been resting on the other’s mind since, and with time, came resentment. He drops the look with a defeated sigh, really wanting to just go back to the easy topics. Confrontation in this field was not exactly something he enjoyed to peddle around in.

“I can leave if jou’d like.”

“If ya wanna take th’ pussy way outta this, be my guest.” He yet again doesn’t bother to look up, working on his gun still.

Spy grimaces at how fast it’s snapped back, and he realizes this isn’t something he can just weasel out again. Continuing to dance around the topic was only going to further piss off the other, so he finally decides to just engage and settle this.

“I ‘ad simply meant that if my company was not what jou sought right now, I could leave. But, it seems there’s something on jour mind jou would like to share, so go ahead.”

Sniper pauses for a moment, stopping what he was doing. A pointed gaze is obscured by shades, but it’s clear where he’s looking. He didn’t really expect to get to the point so easily, and honestly expected him to leave. His hands fold in his lap as he takes the time to articulate what exactly it was he wanted to say.

“I’ll return to my earlier question… why’re you here?”

The rogue expected a bit more than that, but he supposes this is the root of the problem, and he allows him to carry the conversation, as it was obviously not his to guide. This takes a bit to accept, and he finally continues the other’s way. “Because jou were right last night and I am a man of my word.” It comes out way more simple than it was to say, because admitting it took quite a hit to his pride… but he knows what it’s needed right now. Fancy footwork in this conversation needed to be avoided, and he’s sure having it straight out would help de-escalate the issue faster. He straightens up, obviously uncomfortable divulging, but, whatever it took to get out of the hot seat right now.

The sharpshooter looks skeptical, as having the truth so plainly laid out was unexpected, yet again. He knew the other liked to lead the conversation, or have any scrap of control possible, so he chalks it up to that. He doesn’t let it slip him up. “So yer admittin’ that ya come here because ya like to an’ it’s not just t’ distract me or whatever weasely things yer tryna pull?”

He purses his lips. “I will not repeat myself.”

Sniper takes this, knowing it’s the most he’d get. He rubs his chin, then exhales loudly, shoulders slouching and reclining back into the booth. His eyes rest on the ceiling for a moment, before he finally seems to ease up entirely, eyes resting back on his supposed rival. “Well, ya certainly gotta way with words fer supposed’in t’ be a charmer.” He smirks, finally: it a sign he’s sated.

Spy could not be more relieved, but he still holds onto his outer persona, reserved. “And I didn’t take jou for the type to rub it in when they’re right.”

“Awe, c’mon, don’t be that way. Ya can’t blame me fer  _ thinkin’ _ after yer lil’ act last night.” He leans back in, forearms rested on the table, gun ignored for the time being.

He shrugs uncomfortably, looking elsewhere. “I was only warning jou that perhaps pursuing a relationship with the enemy team’s Spy could be a bad idea.”

“Cut the shite, Mate.” A sly grin rests on his features, and if the other were the type, this would be where he’d punch him on the shoulder. Instead, he continues, “I’m a big boy, I can watch out for m’self... but I appreciate ya  _ carin’ _ enough to worry about me.”

A pointed glare brings the BLU’s gaze back, scowling. “I never said—”

The RED begins to laugh, shaking his head. “Calm down, I’m jus’ razzin’ ya.” He smiles warmly, taking off his shades. He rubs his eyes, then blinks blearily a couple times. “So, ya got any plans fer t’morrow?”

Spy’s still nursing his pride when the question hits, mood a little soured… but he doesn’t miss an opportunity to hit the ball back into the other’s field. “What, are jou inviting me back for a third night in a row?”

A lazy shrug accompanies: “An’ if I was?”

Confusion floods his features, not expecting the immediate strike back. He drops the aforementioned ball, no witty reply at the draw. Brows furrow uncomfortably, and he turns his attention to his water bottle. He finally looks up, “Then I suppose I could pencil jou in.”

Sniper laughs again. “I’ll take it.” He moves to set his gun aside, obviously done working on it for the night. Instead, he takes the initiative to strike up the night’s conversation, seeming to get more comfortable with leading them. He doesn’t mind it takes his adversary a moment to bounce back, and finally they’re off on some tangent like usual.

Spy makes a mental note this is their first entirely sober exchange that’s positive… and it feels like an accomplishment of sorts. Sure, it started off rocky, but now his nerves are eased and everything feels like it’s back to normal.

He’ll take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so apparently ao3 is working on incorporating emojis into their comments, but i was under the impression the website was just broke for about a week and a half, so this sat around for that long >_>;; i guess it helped push back such a quick update, making things spaced out like usual, but i feel kinda bad since it's just a small lil' filler to push things along!! i feel like these two need a lot of these boring kind of interactions to actually get somewhere, so, as i continue to promise: enjoy chapter after chapter of extremely slow burning character development. i do try to keep it a bit more in spy's perspective, as i'm sure it's been gathered by now, but i'm working on my sniper along the way; spy kinda has an unfair advantage as i've always rp'd him in the times ive been active in the fandom, and this time around he's actually kinda built off the oc i was rping on tumblr (and then discord) for a while there.
> 
> ANYWAY. i hope it's still enjoyable regardless, and here's too these idiots finally getting somewhere!! love y'all <3
> 
> also i'm gonna bump the fanmix i've been making for these two again because it's where i get all my titles/summaries/notes from: https://open.spotify.com/user/rackkesque/playlist/1t4Qrdo4Wf4InzZPjZJt6u?si=1Fj3B8tiQTakqed1hZW7Ag
> 
> CONTINUING NOTE: i do not speak french and anything used is from google, feel free to correct me if you know the language!!

**Author's Note:**

> not only is this my first TF2 fic... it's my first actual fleshed out fic with a planned out plot and multiple chapters. ;u; please be gentle, i'm only a baby.
> 
> all things aside, i'm super excited for sharing this piece with y'all. i'm setting the rating at mature for now, and plan on adding tags as i go along. if anybody feels like anything specific should be tagged, PLEASE let me know, i'm super new to this sort of thing... i've only ever posted drabbles and one-offs, so this my first actual project (and i'm open to criticism)!! hopefully you enjoy it, and i'll try to get the next chapter up in a timely fashion~ :3 until then, cheers!


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